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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855734">The Upmost Floor of the Blue Sky Cannot Be Conquered Without Permission</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detavot/pseuds/Detavot'>Detavot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gintama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, References to Depression</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:41:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detavot/pseuds/Detavot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an abandoned shrine just at the start of the forest. It was conquered by mold and dust, worn down by erosion, infested with mice and bugs. And yet when the sun or moon hit it at a particular angle, the shrine seemed to glow silver. </p><p>There were some people who were entranced by this glow.</p><p>-Inspired by the third chapter of Lyra_Dhani's work: (Everyone Need) Pieces of Silver Stars-</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kagura &amp; Sakata Gintoki &amp; Shimura Shinpachi, Katsura Kotarou &amp; Sakamoto Tatsuma &amp; Sakata Gintoki &amp; Takasugi Shinsuke, Katsura Kotarou &amp; Yoshida Shouyou, Sakata Gintoki &amp; Yoshida Shouyou, Takasugi Shinsuke &amp; Yoshida Shouyou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Demons Are Considered Evil Because They Act According To Reason But That Doesn't Mean They Lack Emotions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/10413447">(Everyone Need) Pieces of Silver Stars</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyra_Dhani/pseuds/Lyra_Dhani">Lyra_Dhani</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I honestly don't know whether I will make this a multi-chaptered work or whether make it a series of one-shots. I am leaning more towards seperating the arcs, writing them into independent multi-chapter fics, and making them a series. Please let me know what you'd prefer in the comments.</p><p>If you have read Lyra_Dhani's work and are confused by this chapter (or one-shot), don't worry. Everything will make sense as the series progresses.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>    A demon is bound to see many interesting things in his life. The rise and fall of countless empires and governments, the continued evolution of mankind and their creations, too many wars to count, the few peaceful years in between… A demon dined on the misery and sorrow humans created. He supposed he should be thankful for the instinctual rage humanity had to offer--the same rage that sparked tame arguments to turn into bloody wars. The cycle that went on and on.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    He had to say, though, that the cycle which nourished him was a painfully dull one. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    He grew curious. This was a curiosity one could liken to the same one human children were enslaved by: A thirst for all of the knowledge in the world, an anticipation to acquire that knowledge as fast as possible. Indeed, he felt like a young fledgling again. His wide, eager eyes were trying to find anything that could spark interest in him. When he acquired rumors about a white being seen in the remains of a battlefield, his curiosity finally flared. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    The rumors contradicted each other. Some rumors claimed he was the ghost of an orphan, forever destined to look for his parents’ corpses in the fields. Others claimed he was a demon, claiming the souls of the condemned and offering Hell’s fury upon the worst sinners. A rare few claimed he was just a child who was searching for food and shelter. All of them made the being into a legend, a story to tell to their friends and family. The moral of the story changed with each take. Some wished to discourage young children from fighting with the wrong side, some wished to invoke the fear of God in people, others wished to explain what type of consequences war brought with it. The more stories he heard, the more he itched to meet the legend himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    He managed to find the legend. It was not an easy task. The boy had proved himself to be something of a dancer, his movements and mind were in perfect synchronization with that of the soldiers and commanders. It was almost as if war was nothing more than music to this boy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Even a demon as old as him couldn't hear anything other than screams. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    The boy’s head was bowed over what seemed like a traditional rice ball stained with dark blood. He ate it with the grace of a wild, starved beast, licked his blood and food stained hands clean. The demon frowned at the sight. The rice ball served to convince him that this boy was in fact human, did he not know that recklessly taking just anyone’s blood into his own body was a risk? Natural human instinct caused them to be squeamish when it came to other humans’ blood to prevent that from happening. Perhaps fighting and being around other people’s blood all the time had eradicated that particular instinct; it was, after all, possible to erase those natural boundaries with continued exposure. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    But the demon did not wish for the boy to contract any diseases just yet. He had just met the legend and already, even without a single word exchanged between them, he was getting excited to know more. How could a human child manage to outrun a demon, even if it had been for a short time? How could a human child read the battlefield so clearly? He couldn't be more than ten years old, not even worthy of being considered a toddler by the demon’s standards. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    No matter what the child was considered to be, all stories referred to the child the same way: The Corpse-Eating Demon. The child was clearly not a demon, he appeared to be reliant on mortal nourishment. The demon tried to think of a good greeting, though his mind drew blank. He had no idea what type of a person this child was. For the first time in a long, long time, his knowledge on human beings was not enough for him to read this child from afar. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    The child was watching the sunset with a blank expression on his face. His right hand was tight around a sword that was about five centimeters or so taller than him, he clutched it close to his body. The other hand rested on his left thigh. Both of his feet were planted firmly on the ground as he sat on a pile of corpses. The demon realized that this must be that child’s way of resting. If he wished to catch him unaware to read his honest expressions, he had to approach him now or have to wait who knows how long until the child grew weary enough to rest again. Whatever. He was a demon with countless years under his belt, surely he could just go with the flow while talking to a mere child. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “You are too cute to be a demon,” he greeted as he approached the child with what he hoped to be a non-threatening, kind smile on his face. That… could have gone better. Why didn't he just say “Hello”? Or “The sunset is beautiful”? He would even go for “Nice weather we’re having” instead of whatever garbage he just said! The child was looking at him with wide eyes. His blade was unsheathed and prepared for a thrust--when had that happened?--his feet already in position to run or dodge. He stopped just to admire the efficiency and the form, he hoped his smile hadn't strayed from the kindness he was hoping to achieve in the meanwhile. He has to admit it, though, the child was indeed cute now that he thought about it. The fat all children had in their face made his cheeks look as soft as the summer clouds, his curly white hair was adorably messy even while covered in filth and blood, the clothes he wore served to make him look more like a toddler than a child with the way they dwarfed him. Those red eyes, as dark as the colour of blood that had been spilt three hours ago, showed both his fear and a message for him to back off. The child had been caught unaware and he didn't want to fight someone who could do that. “A sword used with fear and anger deserves to be thrown away,” the demon continued, refusing to try to backtrack in front of a child. “Perhaps I could show you the correct way to use it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    The child narrowed his eyes and let out a slight hiss. The demon noticed how the sword was held back the slightest bit from where it had previously been; the child was preparing himself to make a move. He had to hurry. The demon put a hand on his own sword, the child leaned forward and put his weight to the front of his feet, and the demon threw his sheathed sword at the child just as he tried to launch himself at the demon. It had the desired effect. The child was thrown off balance with the weight of the rather heavy (and expensive, the demon thought with slight sadness) weapon, throwing the dirty sword rusted with blood and worn with excessive use in favor of catching the sword thrown at him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “There you are,” the demon said with a simple smile. “If you wish to learn how to use this sword, all you need to do is follow me. I’ll teach you. You don’t have much else to do now, do you?” The child didn’t look very convinced. He looked taken aback, shocked, a bit annoyed… The demon had to make sure these emotions didn’t give way to baseless anger. “I’ll feed you, of course, if you succeed in my lessons.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Suddenly, the child lowered his sword for the first time during this encounter and let his childishly wide eyes stare freely. “Let’s go,” the child said. His voice was guttural, most likely because his voice box was mostly used to growl or scream. The demon morbidly wondered how exactly the boy had learned how to speak without anyone to practise with.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “You’re easy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “I’ll kill you.” Ah, his speech was fairly limited in creativity. He seemed to understand just fine, though, so that would be an easy fix. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. When Your Parents Tell You To Clean Up Your Room, Listen To Them Because They Probably Know A Thing or Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi... it's maybe been a month.... time moves really fast sometimes....</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>    Shimura Shinpachi was a painfully ordinary boy. Many people had traits that could help distinguish them from the crowd, whether they be bad or good or neutral, though Shinpachi never did find the trait that made him himself rather than just another face in the crowd. He was only sixteen years old, he understood that, a man needed to live and experience the world in order to find those traits. That was what his father had always said, anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    What was he living, now? What was he experiencing? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    “You damned brat,” the manager was shouting as Shinpachi prostrated beneath his feet, “how did you manage to fuck up delivering a few glasses of milk? How did you manage to fuck it up <em>this</em> badly? Are you retarded? Did I hire a defective human, huh? Did I?” The manager was buying into the propaganda, Shinpachi knew, with all of the foreign news networks that he followed and regularly opened in the café. Shinpachi watched those news networks with a sick fascination when he wasn’t dealing with the customers. The lies, the insults, the sheer lunacy… Ah, right, he was supposed to be apologizing, wasn’t he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    “I’m very sorry, manager. I tripped. I have no excuses for my actions.” He did, actually. The Amanto customers had tripped him, a bunch of diplomats, who honestly shouldn’t even be customers in the low-class café he worked in, just because they found it funny. They enjoyed the role of God they could play with Shinpachi’s life. Why order milk when they were already drunk on their lust for power? Ah, but who was Shinpachi to judge? He was just a teen boy, stuck in poverty with no parents or friends to count on, with an older sister who worked hard to try to make ends meet. Both of them had grown up so fast. Too fast. His sister had started working in a cabaret club when she was underaged, forced to attract sick men with her youth, while he could just hold onto such a low-paying job because he was only skilled with a sword. A sword he could not even use if he valued his life. Perhaps how pathetic he was was the trait that made him stand out. He wanted to laugh. He needed to laugh, because the only other alternative was to cry and crying was basically the same as submitting. He had an awful lot of pride for someone so pathetic, but he was who he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    The manager yelled at him, insulted him some more. Shinpachi distanced himself from it. He drowned in his thoughts, let them consume him, because whatever the manager said was nothing that was relatively new. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    “You’re lucky those customers didn’t complain,” the manager said. His face was flushed, veins peeked from beneath the skin on his neck. “You are so, so lucky. You should be prostrating beneath their feet. Don’t get cocky, though, kid, because you’re on thin fucking ice. One mistake. <em>One</em>. Even if it’s as little as mixing up a single order. I’ll fire you. Do you hear me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    “Thank you, manager.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    “Don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    So, Shinpachi stood up and bowed, ninety degrees, and exited the room. He worked in a daze. How long would it be until he was fired? Perhaps he should work as a part-timer somewhere else, too, for as long as he was still in this job. His sister worked throughout the night anyways. She wouldn't notice it. Who knew when some damned asshole would come to play God again? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    He would not speak about this day with his sister. Just like every other day he refused to speak about his job with his sister, just like every other day he retired from the dinner table early and left his sister alone. He was creating a gap between them, a cliff, and it broke his heart but he knew it was better than burdening her with his own problems. It was better for her to make only assumptions instead of knowing that he was miserable with the way they lived. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    What type of person would hope their own home burned to the ground? No. It was better for his sister to not know anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    When his shift was over, his tired feet carried him not to his dreaded home but to a remotely uninhabited part of town. There was a little hill there. At the top there was a broken down shrine. It wasn't looked after, probably hadn't been looked after since the war started. Moss and weeds and fungi cracked the stone and wood, there was no statue depicting whatever god or spirit that it was dedicated to--the pillar that should hold the statue was cracked and was steadily eroding away. The one thing that seemed to be taken care of seemed to be a small golden bell placed upon the pillar. No one came here to pray; at least, Shinpachi had never seen anyone visiting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    It was perfect. Here, he finally felt at home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    When the sun hit whatever was left of the temple at the right angle, it flowed silver. Shinpachi had spent months figuring out where to kneel during the times of day. Now, he knelt directly in front of the pillar and looked up at the temple’s faint silver glow with a smile. It gave him hope. Even somewhere as pathetic as this place had something to make it beautiful, so perhaps… Perhaps he could steal some of that beauty for himself, if he visited here often enough. Shinpachi clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. “I don’t know who you are but please, please offer my sister and I some guidance. We don’t know what we’re doing, what we should do. Please… I’ll do anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    “Anything, huh?” a voice came from behind him. Shinpachi flinched and turned. An old woman was standing behind him with a picnic basket in her hands. Her face was filled with wrinkles, though that didn’t stop her from smiling as she regarded him. She wore a simple, worn black kimono and her makeup was done a tad too heavily. Her black hair, littered with white and gray, was fashioned gracefully with not a single strand out of place. “The least you can do when praying to a god is bring an offering.” The phrase wasn’t said in a accusatory or disappointed way, it was said as a gentle reminder. How long had it been since he’d heard such a warm tone of voice directed towards him? Perhaps five years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    To his horror, Shinpachi’s eyes teared up. He turned back towards the shrine and tried desperately to wipe his eyes with his sleeves, but more kept coming until he was sobbing in front of a stranger. Oh, how disappointed must his father be, watching him in this pathetic state. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    He felt the old lady put a hand on his shoulder. The hand was wrinkled with age and a life-time of hard work, with the thinned skin openly showing off the fragile veins beneath. “It’s alright, child, I’ve brought more than enough for both of us. I hear this god likes <em>manjuu</em>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    Shinpachi smiled weakly. “Where did you hear that?” The old lady’s presence soothed him. She didn’t make him feel bad for crying. Was this how ladies were? How would he know? He barely remembered his mother and his own sister had grown up to be more like a father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    “You didn’t know? There’s a priest who lives here.” Upon seeing Shinpachi’s horrified face, the old lady smiled in a pacifying manner and held her hands up. “He’s not in the shrine most of the time, don’t worry. Would you like to meet him?” Shinpachi thought about his red puffy eyes and runny nose, about how he’d cried or screamed here because he’d thought he was alone. The priest, whoever he’d been, had never disturbed him. He had given Shinpachi the space that he’d needed. Shinpachi smiled shakily and nodded. Otose gave him a wider smile in return and placed the picnic bag beside him before approaching the pillar. She rang the little silver bell. Shinpachi chuckled a bit. The bell sounded like the laughter of happy children. It filled him with warmth. Whoever this priest was, Shinpachi knew he had to be a decent guy. He wondered how exactly the priest could manage to live in this shrine that looked like it was just a couple of bad days away from ruin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>    This was the first time Shinpachi laid his eyes on the man named Sakata Gintoki.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    A man with hair that glowed a radiant silver stepped out from the forest behind the temple. He wore a simple white yukata and worn sandals which, by all means, should not look as regal as he made them seem on his body and yet here they were. His pale complexion seemed to add to the pale silver glow around him. He stopped in front of the entrance of the temple and the temple seemed to glow just a little bit brighter. Shinpachi blinked a few times just to get rid of the hallucinations because there is absolutely no way that a person could glow silver. “Finally kicked the bucket, old hag?” he said as he picked his nose with one hand and scratched the back of his head with the other. Ah, that killed the hallucinations just fine. What type of priest talked and acted in such a disrespectful manner? </p><p> </p><p>    “Who are you calling old, you damned punk?” the old lady snapped back. Wait, was this the same lady who talked to him in such a motherly way? </p><p> </p><p>    The man continued on without any acknowledgement shown towards the lady’s words. “Do you have no shame? The boy behind you could be your grandson’s son! I knew you were a cougar but this is just…” </p><p> </p><p>    “How old do you think I am?” </p><p> </p><p>    “... completely beyond morality or legality. Boy, blink twice if you need help. I'm sure the hag promised you her insurance money or business but trust me when I say that that money won't be enough to buy you a single parfait and that establishment will crash down on your head with so much as a single gust of wind.” </p><p> </p><p>    “How dare you? I'll have you know that my insurance money could buy you the damn Edo Castle! And I pay you to repair my establishment, so what do you have to say for yourself you little shit? What the fuck have you been doing with the money I pay you because you sure haven't been earning it if a gust of wind can crash it down!”</p><p> </p><p>    “Ah, look at how she avoided the cougar comment. There's a special place in hell for hags who manipulate young naive boys, don't you know?” </p><p> </p><p>    “Look at who’s talking! You don't even believe in a monotheistic religion, what would you know about hell?” </p><p> </p><p>    “Hey, old lady, apologize to Buddha right now.” </p><p> </p><p>    Shinpachi, who had been watching the two argue much like a mother and son rather than a priest and a worshipper, finally stood up and found his voice. “Uh, so, are you the priest of this temple?” A bit of a dumb question, yes, but Shinpachi had never been praised for his intelligence and he owned up to that. Finally, finally, the priest turned and truly looked upon Shinpachi and suddenly he felt a chill down his spine. His eyes were a dark red color. They looked like dried blood. “My name is Shimura Shinpachi,” he said as the priest only looked at him silently for a few seconds far too long. </p><p> </p><p>    “And my name’s Sakata Gintoki.” There wasn't a smile on the man’s face and his voice was only lukewarm. Come to think of it, even though the old lady and the priest seemed close, the man’s expression had remained absolutely blank throughout the entire exchange. “I guess you can say I'm the priest of this dump, though I do some odd jobs to try to keep myself fed.” There was an odd smile on his face when he said the word priest, though it melted off of his face so quickly Shinpachi was tempted to believe he just imagined it due to a wish to see some sort of personality on the man’s face. What type of priest would talk about a shrine in such a way? Well, Shinpachi supposed he couldn't judge too harshly since he thought of his own dojo in a similar manner. Perhaps the man was in a similar situation. </p><p> </p><p>    “The boy came to pray,” the old lady stated and lit up a cigarette. She took a long drag before she continued. “Do you believe the god of this shrine would lend him an ear?” </p><p> </p><p>    “Gods are selfish, they want an offering first.” Shinpachi was getting more and more confused with this priest. He didn't wear anything remotely close to what a priest should be wearing nor did he speak like a priest ought to. Perhaps the first one was just because of how tight money was, Shinpachi could tell just by the shrine that times were tough, but the manner of speech could not be excused by that. </p><p> </p><p>    “We have enough manjuu for both of us,” the old lady replied and nodded towards Shinpachi. Shinpachi picked up the picnic basket and Sakata-san’s eyes widened for just a bit. “That's enough for me. Boy, pour your heart out to the priest. He’ll relay your message to the god.”</p><p> </p><p>    “That's not how…”</p><p> </p><p>    “That's how it works in this shrine,” Sakata-san said impatiently, his eyes still on the basket. “If you don't want the hag to hear you, we can go somewhere private. You can tell Gin-chan here all about how she manipulated you and how much you want her dead. I’ll kill her for you for just a little bit of an extra price!” </p><p> </p><p>    “Watch your tongue, punk.” </p><p> </p><p>    “We all know he’s thinking about it. Don't worry, brat, I’ll protect you from her as long as she's living. Of course I’ll charge you for it but I’ll have you know that my services are top-notch!” </p><p> </p><p>    “I should be getting back home…” Shinpachi said weakly, suddenly thinking about how strong the man looked and how he was a complete stranger. Besides, it wasn't a complete lie. The sun was beginning to dip into the horizon, he should've been home hours ago. His sister must be worried sick. “It was very nice meeting both of you! Goodbye.” He walked away slowly, not wanting to alarm the man, but ran the entire way home as soon as he was sure he wasn't being followed. </p><p> </p><p>     Regret hit him faster than the sight did. </p><p> </p><p>    The dojo’s windows were broken. Some of the planks in the floor were smashed, the door had been forcefully torn off the hinges. A piece torn off of his sister’s kimono laid innocently on the floor. Shinpachi’s vision was blurry now. When had this even happened? If he had been here… If he hadn't visited that fucking temple… How long had he watched that old lady and priest argue, anyways? He was a fucking idiot. He was a damned idiot and the worst brother on the face of the earth. Fuck. Fuck. Suddenly, he thought of that priest. His body was heavily muscled. He did odd jobs, right? He couldn't pay but he'd gladly go into debt, he'd even sacrifice his organs. He had an idea of who was behind this. Who else could it have been but those damned Amanto sharks? If they could be fast enough… He had to do something, anything at the very least. With that in mind, he ran back the way he’d come. </p>
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